


Delicate // in every way but one

by ViolettaValery



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blindfolds, Civilian Alex, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Danger Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Hook-Up, Kidnapping, Knifeplay, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26437159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolettaValery/pseuds/ViolettaValery
Summary: Alex Rider is perfectly normal. He isn’t a spy, or an assassin, or anything even remotely along those lines.In fact, the only remarkable thing about him is his planet-sized danger kink.Yassen Gregorovitch is in London for a job, sad, lonely, and horny. Looking at Alex's Tindr profile, he thinks he definitely has the skillset to give this boy what he needs.
Relationships: Yassen Gregorovich/Alex Rider
Comments: 12
Kudos: 94





	Delicate // in every way but one

**Author's Note:**

> This just sort of....dropped into my head as is. Oops.

Alex Rider is perfectly normal. He isn’t a spy, or an assassin, or anything even remotely along those lines.

In fact, the only remarkable thing about him is his planet-sized danger kink.

Yassen Gregorovitch goes by many titles. Contract killer, assassin, murderer. He never stays anywhere long, forms no lasting connections, and only indulges himself occasionally, always taking great care to conceal his identity and erase all traces of himself when he’s finished.

This time, he’s in London, lonely, bored, and horny. He’s spent the last week on stakeouts prior to making the kill – a thoroughly unremarkable murder of a businessman paid for by his rival. There hadn’t been the slightest challenge to the job, and as he nurses a drink afterwards, it turns into one of those nights when he wonders if this is all his life will ever be. Dank safehouse or sumptuous hotel rooms, always empty, filled with nothing but loud silences and bottles of whiskey and vodka as his only companions.

He scrolls through Tindr halfheartedly and a young boy – man, he corrects himself, though his looks are still boyish despite a profile claiming he’s eighteen – catches his eye. He’s handsome, blonde hair and brown eyes, and very fit. Yassen would happily fuck him based on that alone, but then he notices something else.

Listed among Alex’s kinks and preferences is “danger kink.” “If you can scare the living daylights out of me, I’ll come harder than I ever have, and then I’ll do anything you want 😉 😉,” he writes.

Well, Yassen thinks. He definitely has the skillset for that.

_Anything you want?_ he messages. _You don’t think it’s dangerous to give a stranger carte blanche?_

 _The bigger the challenge, the bigger the reward_ , Alex writes back almost immediately. _Perhaps the thirteenth time will be the charm?_ 😉

Well, now Yassen is _definitely_ intrigued. He has some time before his next job. He can take a week to explore this delicious possibility. He’s been aching for a challenge, after all.

They message back and forth a little more, flirty banter combined with feeling out each other’s preferences. He learns the few things Alex isn’t into (and it’s a remarkably short list). They decide on a day, when Alex doesn’t have classes or plans with his friends and has the whole night free.

They’re just working out the details of when and where when Yassen gets an idea.

 _Can I surprise you?_ He messages.

He’d expected Alex to take some time to deliberate, but the reply comes almost immediately.

 _Please do._ He sends along his address and confirms a time frame.

Yassen gets to work.

……

Alex is walking home happily, whistling some tune he’s heard one too many times on the radio. He’s thoroughly looking forward to tonight. He doesn’t know when Yassen will show up, except that it’ll be sometime tonight, and he has no idea what he has planned, either. Butterflies flit about his stomach in excited anticipation. Yassen seems like he might be different from all the other guys who have insisted they could scare him, only to safeword out when they realized how far he wanted to push things.

Is it really so hard to frighten him? Alex wonders. He’s just a normal guy. It’s not like he’s seen terrible, life-scarring shit.

He’s lost in thought, not entirely paying attention, which is why the attack startles him. Then again, he isn’t expecting a mugging in the middle of the street in broad daylight. He’s been on the receiving end of several such attempts before, thought, albeit at night or at the very least in secluded alleyways, and he moves on instinct, drawing on the krav maga lessons his uncle had insisted on his entire life. He jabs with his elbow, turns quickly in order to give a knee kick to his opponent’s stomach, and, to his surprise, is met with resistance. Then he feels a prick in his neck and the world goes black.

He wakes up to darkness. Shaking his head, he realizes he’s blindfolded, and an attempt to move tells him that he’s in a chair with his hands tied behind his back.

That hadn’t been a run of the mill attacker. For one thing, most muggers aren’t experts in krav maga. But a random mugger would also have simply taken his wallet; he wouldn’t have bothered sedating him and bringing him to a secondary location. And Alex hasn’t pissed off anyone dangerous, as far as he knows. He’s kept his head down and gone to school like a normal person. In fact, the only exciting thing about his life, and about that day in particular, were his plans. So that means -

“Yassen?” he asks.

A delighted laugh greets him.

“You’re quick,” the man says, with a voice as dangerous as it is honey-sweet, and just the slightest trace of a Russian accent. His blindfold is removed, giving him a view of a what looks like a very expensive apartment and, in front of him, Yassen himself, in the flesh.

He’s even more attractive than his photo, natural light making his pale skin and blonde hair look vibrant rather than washed out. He’s dressed in a crisp blue-grey suit tailored perfectly to his frame: he could be a businessman if wasn’t for the way he moves with the grace of a tiger.

Alex swallows, mouth suddenly very dry. Or maybe that’s the sedative.

This could end very badly, he realizes. Yassen just shown exactly how easily he can make Alex disappear. Which he _knew,_ going in. (“You’re going to get yourself murdered, mate,” Tom had told him more than once). And he can’t entirely push those thoughts out of his mind.

But the fact is, he can’t manage to focus on them either, because he’s way too turned on to be able to focus on anything. The second he realized it was Yassen, the arousal had slammed into him, sending every thought scattering.

“You really do have a danger kink,” Yassen remarks as he takes Alex in, from his short breaths to his visibly hard dick. “I could be some perverted serial killer who’s brought you here to toy with you before throwing your body into a ditch, and yet….” The sentence hangs in the air, full of dangerous possibility. The silence presses heavily against them.

Alex’s heartbeat quickens with anticipation.

Then Yassen withdraws a blade and approaches him.

Alex’s breath catches. His heart stutters with fear and his dick twitches with interest. Instinctively, he pulls against the bonds on his wrists, but they hold fast. Yassen only smirks.

“Feel free to struggle, if you prefer,” Yassen tells him. “The bonds will hold.”

Alex has already fathomed that. The ties are immaculate, and the rope is strong, but soft. Yassen’s methods aren’t so crude as to use rough hemp.

“I do hope you’re not wearing anything you’d hate to have ruined,” Yassen remarks as he begins to cut Alex’s shirt open. He could have unbuttoned it, Alex thinks stubbornly as the buttons scatter on the lush carpet. Yassen is deft with the knife, and it doesn’t even graze Alex’s skin. Still, he keeps very, very still, just in case. Yassen seems like the kind of man who would keep his blades very, very sharp.

Yassen pushes Alex’s shirt off his shoulders until it bunches around his wrists and steps back to admire. Alex likes to think he likes what he sees. He keeps himself fit, and now that he’s reached his late teens, his body has really put on muscle. He’s no longer the slender boy he was at fourteen.

Then Yassen kneels down between his spread legs. Alex swallows hard at what this might imply, but Yassen merely unlaces his boots, then unbuckles his belt, and pulls both shoes and pants off.

Excited for the day’s plans, Alex hadn’t bothered putting underwear on, and now he’s thoroughly naked, while Yassen’s still in his pristine suit. Though he does take the jacket off, revealing a concealed gun that he puts on a table within reach.

Fucking hell. What does Yassen _do_ for a living? And why does that make him even harder?

Yassen puts a knee between his legs and tilts his chin up. His hand is warm and calloused, and his lips are very, very close, and when Yassen leans forward to press them together, Alex surrenders happily to the kiss. Yassen kisses as surely as he’s done everything else, tongue pressing against Alex’s lips until he parts them, then exploring his mouth. The crisp cotton of his shirt presses against Alex’s naked body, and the contrast arouses him even further. He squirms, just a little, seeking some kind of friction, not caring that he’d get precome on Yassen’s immaculate suit.

“What do you want from this, Alex?” Yassen purrs, voice soft and thick as molten chocolate. He makes no move to give Alex any sort of relief. “Do you like being helpless? Do you want to be hurt? Do you want to feel _violated_?”

Each of those ideas sends a thrill through his body.

“I don’t know,” he admits.

“Then we shall have to experiment, until we discover the answer,” Yassen says softly, and in that sentence resides a world of possibilities that send Alex’s head spinning.

Yassen, meanwhile, begins to toy with Alex’s nipples, twisting and pulling just to the edge of pain and pulling soft gasps of pleasure from him that he has no qualms about letting spill. Then Yassen presses close to kiss him again, and his crisp shirt presses against the sensitive nubs, making him gasp against Yassen’s lips.

Yassen only smiles and continues kissing him, and Alex lets himself get lost in the kiss, and the press of Yassen’s body against him. He whines plaintively when Yassen pulls back, but he doesn’t go far.

“I’m afraid this will have to go back on,” he says almost apologetically, and Alex glances down to find the blindfold in his hands.

He doesn’t bother to protest, sitting quietly as Yassen ties it around him and the world descends into darkness yet again.

“Now, let’s proceed,” Yassen murmurs. “We have _so much_ to explore.”

Alex feels his breathing quicken, excitement and fear both feeding into the arousal that makes him breathless. It doesn’t quite make sense – the kidnapping aside, Yassen has been meticulous, and this has all the feel of a choreographed scene, one that would end the second he uttered a stoplight color. They’ve even _discussed_ stoplight colors, or rather, Yassen had asked him if they’d suffice.

And yet, Yassen exudes danger. He hasn’t yelled, hasn’t even raised his voice, hasn’t used violence (the initial kidnapping aside, and even then, he’d used the minimum amount of force necessary). But the cool calm and professionalism with which Yassen bend him to each of his whims sends fear sliding down Alex’s spine in a way that none of his former doms had been able to achieve with threats, screams, or violence.

Blindfolded, his other senses sharpen. He can hear, in the distance, the hum of a refrigerator, the slightest sound of traffic beyond the soundproofed windows, and the creak of the chair as Yassen rests a knee on it again. He feels the heat of Yassen’s body close to his, the brushes of fabric against his skin, the sharp bite of pain at his nipple.

It takes everything he has to hold back the sound that threatens to escape, biting his lip. He can guess what Yassen has done: attached a clamp to his now-sensitive nipple, which sinks its teeth painfully into the nub.

“Good boy,” Yassen murmurs when he doesn’t make a sound, and it makes a very pleasant warmth spread through him. Now _that_ was a kink he didn’t realize he had. If being praised counted as a kink.

Yassen’s hand rests comfortably on his shoulder, its calloused warmth reassuring as, predictably, he attaches the second clamp.

Alex knows to expect it this time, but he still has to steel himself against the sharp pain. He wants to swear, but he won’t give Yassen that satisfaction.

Then he hears the slight creak of the floor as Yassen walks around him, hand still on Alex’s shoulder. Alex is so focused on the warmth of his touch that the knife at his throat feels ice-cold by comparison. It rests there for a moment, a silent message. Then Yassen takes it away, slicing swiftly through the bonds around Alex’s wrists before returning to his throat. It gives him a window of a second or so to attempt escape, but he’s under no illusions about how successful he would be. His krav maga is no match for Yassen’s obvious skill.

What _does_ Yassen do for a living? Alex wonders. Perhaps he’s a very well-trained soldier. Special ops. Or a spy. A contract killer. A serial killer, that’s still not _entirely_ out of the question.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on that, though.

“Stand up,” Yassen orders. “Walk forward.” The knife is still at his throat.

He rises, feeling shaky – from the sedative perhaps, or the arousal, or both. Maybe he’s feeling faint because most of his blood is in his dick, since he’s most definitely harder than he’s ever been.

He takes several careful steps forward, trusting Yassen (and when did _that_ happen?) not to let him fall, until his knees hit the bed. The knife is still at his throat.

“Bend over,” Yassen orders.

The remarkable thing about his orders, Alex thinks with the one brain cell that remains, is that they’re given so calmly. They sound like polite requests. But they’re definitely orders, and part of Alex is very curious to find out what would happen if he disobeyed. Would Yassen truly hurt him? Force him? He has no doubt Yassen is capable of it, easily, and both ideas are appealing in their own way, but he also wants to let Yassen control the scene and take it where he planned. Because he has no doubt that Yassen has painstakingly planned out every moment of what they’re doing now.

He bends over, and immediately sucks in a breath through his teeth as the clamps at his nipples swing. Aided by gravity, they pull, and the dull pain he’d started to acclimate himself to sharpens again.

 _“Fuck,_ ” he whispers.

Yassen just chuckles. One of his fingers trails over the knobs of his spine one by one.

“What do you want, Alex?” he asks. His hand moves from Alex’s back to his ass, thumb teasing at the crease between his cheeks, then the slightest brush over his hole. He startles, then curses again as it sends the clamps swinging, pain shooting from those two points.

“Would you like to fight back?” Yassen asks. Alex is still distracted by the pain, as well as where Yassen’s finger has been, and it takes him a moment to process the question. “You would lose, of course. But is that what you want? To be forced? To feel _violated_?”

Alex whines helplessly. He thinks that if Yassen keeps talking, Alex could come untouched, just from his – rather evocative - words. Though perhaps that’s Yassen’s plan, to rip an orgasm from him and use his body after. Who knows? _He_ certainly doesn’t. That’s what makes the whole thing so hot, his cock throbbing between his legs and driving him very close to begging.

It _is_ the second time Yassen has used the word _violated,_ though. Is that what Yassen wants? Is this his roundabout way of asking for permission, even though Alex had essentially given him carte blanche?

He doesn’t have the wherewithal to try guessing what could possibly be going through Yassen’s mind, though. All the blood in his body seems to be occupied at powering a different organ entirely.

“Yes,” he croaks.

Yassen hums approvingly. Alex feels him shift, and hears the click of lube opening. He’s prepared for Yassen’s fingers at his hole, but he still gasps at the coldness of the liquid.

He holds as still as he can, lest his movement send the clamps swinging, and lets Yassen open him up, finger by delicious finger. Yassen is thorough, taking his time, but it doesn’t feel at all like it’s for Alex’s benefit. No, Yassen is only doing this because he’s following through on his carefully-laid plan, whatever it is, and the way it makes Alex’s cock throb with need when Yassen presses inside _just so_ is simply a pleasant and also infuriating side effect.

He’s never felt so completely helpless, and he’s not even restrained. But, bent over, blindfolded, and with four of Yassen’s fingers inside him, he feels completely and utterly at Yassen’s mercy, and still Yassen shows no signs of stopping.

It’s mind-blowingly arousing.

“Yassen, wait, I – I’m gonna – “ he tries to warn.

Still, Yassen doesn’t stop.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Alex swears, unable to hold back any longer. His orgasm hits him swiftly violently, sending him off-kilter, and he’s glad he’s leaning on the bed for support. His legs feel like they’ve turned to jelly, and his mind as well.

“Fuck,” he hisses again, trying to catch his breath. “Sorry,” he adds.

“Don’t be sorry, dear boy,” Yassen says. “You may be finished for the moment, but that’s not reason for _me_ to stop.”

Alex’s cock attempts, quite valiantly, to harden at that. But that’s the irony, is it not? That he’s aroused precisely because he can’t get hard, and Yassen has just informed him that he plans to use his body regardless?

Yassen only laughs delightedly at the very apparent shiver that goes through Alex at that.

The blindfold is removed, as are the nipple clamps. Alex swears when they are – he’d thought it’d be a relief, but it’s a pain of its own when they come off. Yassen nudges him upright, facing him.

“Now, dear boy,” he says. “Fight me.”

Alex doesn’t need to be told twice. He draws on all the skill he has – karate and krav maga, schoolyard fights and every trick he’s ever seen in a movie. It’s exhilarating, not to have to hold back. He’s only ever been able to fight with such unrestrained fury when he trained, and they’d always been required to wear protection. But with Yassen, he can let forth all his (considerable, when measured against _normal people,_ he thinks) skill. Alex knows he won’t hurt him. Yassen blocks every blow easily, and every time, he ends up easily and – usually – painfully pinned by Yassen.

The third time, it ends with Yassen on top of him, hand at his throat. They’re both hard, cocks pressing against each other with the way Yassen straddles him.

Then Yassen squeezes. He straddles Alex, and squeezes, and watches calmly as the air fails to enter Alex’s lungs. He does it for so long that Alex thinks maybe Yassen really does intend to kill him, and fear – forgotten in the heat of the fight – creeps in again.

Only then does Yassen lean in to kiss him, his hand still squeezing Alex’s throat. Alex’s eyes flutter closed, his ears ringing and his head feeling much too heavy and, as he gasps in vain against Yassen’s lips, his cock pulses with climax.

Yassen sits up and regards him with curiosity, taking in the mess on Alex’s stomach, the flush spread over his body, his heaving chest.

“Hmm,” he says. “Again.”

“Again?” Alex asks. He definitely can’t get it up again this fast, as much as he’d like to. He’s barely gotten his breath back, for goodness’ sakes.

“Again,” Yassen repeats. “Fight me. And if you do so convincingly, perhaps I’ll _think_ about letting you go when I’m finished with you.”

Alex’s entire body turns into one enormous shiver.

Fuck, Yassen is terrifying.

Exhaustedly, he forces himself upright, and struggles against Yassen with everything he has, but all their other bouts and his multiple orgasms have taken almost everything out of him. Yassen pins him with embarrassing speed – face-down, this time, an arm bent painfully behind his back. He struggles against the hold, but only succeeds in confirming what he already suspected: that the only way out of this hold was by breaking or dislocating his arm. Which he has absolutely no desire to do.

Yassen kicks his legs open with a knee, and Alex understands now why Yassen had taken his time preparing him beforehand.

It’s so that, victorious, he can slide easily inside Alex’s subdued body.

He doesn’t bother to reach forward to grasp Alex’s cock; the only friction Alex gets is from rubbing against the bedsheets as Yassen bottoms out inside him and thrusts him repeatedly into the mattress. One hand still holds his arm pinned painfully behind him, while the other has moved to his hips in a bruising grip. His nipples, still sensitive, rub agonizingly against the bedspread.

It all sends molten, simmering arousal through his veins. Cursing his teenage hormones, he comes untouched for the third time that night, spilling on sheets that are by this point long beyond saving, and is then forced to endure Yassen continuing to use his oversensitive body.

The thought occurs to him that, judging by the stamina Yassen has displayed thus far, he could keep going all night. What if he _does,_ using Alex until he can’t see straight, until every inch of his body aches, until he’s begging Yassen to stop?

 _Would_ Yassen stop?

And, perhaps more importantly, why does the thought of Yassen continuing to use his half-conscious body make his dick attempt to harden yet again?

Just then, Yassen spills inside him with a grunt. Finished, he covers Alex’s body with his own – though, at least, he lets his arm go, and Alex winces as the sore muscles scream. They’re both sticky with sweat, but the weight atop him is….nice.

“Fuck,” he says again. That’s all his vocabulary seems to have been reduced to.

After a few moments, Yassen rolls off, sprawling next to him. He seems barely winded, his breathing evening out quickly.

Alex can’t stand it anymore.

“Who _are_ you?” he asks.

Yassen turns his head to regard him. “You know the phrase ‘I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you’? It’s something like that.”

“Come off it,” Alex says. “What are you, a spy or something?”

“Don’t,” Yassen warns. “You’re playing with fire, Alex.”

“Isn’t that what I came here to do?” Alex challenges.

In a blink, Yassen is atop him again, Alex’s hands pinned above his head, and this time, there’s nothing playful about it. Not that there had been the entire time, but this Yassen is a world apart from the one who had taken Alex so thoroughly and pleasantly apart in exactly the way he’d wanted.

“I mean it, Alex,” Yassen growls. “Don’t.”

“Okay, okay,” he says placatingly. “I won’t ask. Though you could’ve just said you did Spec Ops for the army once, or something. I wouldn’t have gone digging.”

“Good,” Yassen says. Softly. Dangerously. He lets Alex go, taking up the spot next to him once again. “Don’t go digging, Alex. I would hate for anything to happen to you.”

Is that a threat? Or a warning? He can’t tell. And the curiosity is killing him.

But he also really wants to see Yassen again, and he has the feeling that won’t happen if he puts a target on his back.

“So will I see you again?” he asks instead.

“Would you like to?” Yassen asks, and for the first time since he’s met him, Yassen sounds uncertain.

“You mean, do I want you to give me several more mindblowing orgasms? _Yeah,_ I would,” he says.

Yassen laughs, happy and genuine and wholehearted, and it fills Alex with a joy better than even his (very nice) orgasms to see Yassen being that free with him, after everything.

“I travel a lot,” he admits. “I don’t know when I’ll be in London again. And even if I did, well, I can’t exactly go around advertising my location weeks in advance in my line of work.”

“I get it,” Alex says. He’s accepted – for now, at least – that he won’t get anything more out of Yassen about who he is or what he does. He’ll be content just to have him. “But when you’re around again, text me, yeah?”

“You mean, I shouldn’t just kidnap you off the street with no warning?” Yassen asks mischievously.

Alex shivers. “As nice as that is, I have plans and commitments and friends who’d worry about me if I just disappeared and went incommunicado.”

“Duly noted,” Yassen says. “I shall text like a civilized person, then.”

It’s Alex’s turn to laugh. Then, unable to hold back any longer, he leans forward and kisses Yassen.

“Thank you,” he says.

“My pleasure,” Yassen replies. “Literally.”

Alex laughs and chucks a pillow at him. They’ve done a full one-eighty, from the tension of their scene (because that’s what it was, even if it was thoroughly lacking in negotiations) to the companionable intimacy of old lovers. It feels like they’ve known each other forever.

Even if Yassen might actually be a killer, Alex’s mind reminds him. He shoves that thought far away, into a dusty old drawer in the back of his head.

“You’re welcome to stay the night,” Yassen offers. “Though I do have to leave quite early. And this place is a rental, so don’t think of coming here to look for me later on.”

“I won’t,” Alex reassures, while internally he wonders how Yassen knew he was considering doing exactly that.

Alex does end up staying the night. Well-fucked, he falls asleep quickly in Yassen’s arms, and wakes up to a cold bed, a note with a heart scrawled on it and signed with the letter _Y,_ and a bullet.

It’s the last that gets him hard, and he takes himself in hand, bringing himself to a swift and shuddering climax. He takes one last look at the apartment that’s full of so many pleasant memories before closing the door and ambling home contentedly.

He drills a hole in the bullet to wear it as a charm around his neck and waits for Yassen’s next message.


End file.
